Organising the Holidays
by Healer Pomfrey
Summary: Harry falls ill right before the beginning of the winter holidays in his first Hogwarts year, and the four Heads of House have to take care of him and of Ron, who is mysteriously sick as well. Completely AU, partly OOC. Just my usual fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**Organising ****the Holidays**

**~ by Healer Pomfrey ~**

_  
Before you flame me because of posting another new story without continuing my unfinished ones, please note that this is another holiday story, which I wrote back in summer! This story has four small chapters, which I will post depending on the feedback for the previous chapter.  
I hope you enjoy and wish you very Happy Holidays!_

_I'm not a native speaker of English; a__ll recognizable characters belong to J. K. Rowling, and I am not earning anything by writing this story._

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Harry slowly dragged himself out onto the grounds. He knew that he was running late for Quidditch practice, but there was nothing he could do about it. Ever since his Potions class earlier in the afternoon, he had been freezing, and his throat was hurting badly. Knowing that it was snowing outside, he had returned to his dormitory after dinner in order to put a few layers of clothes under his robes, not caring about being late for Quidditch.

As soon as he took into the air, he realised that his head hurt as well. Nevertheless, he did his best and frantically looked for the Snitch, knowing that Oliver would only dismiss them if they showed him without doubt that they were going to definitely win every Quidditch match for the rest of the school year.

Two hours into the practice, Harry felt not only sore, but cold and exhausted and could hardly concentrate anymore.

"Harry, be careful," the twins shouted from behind him, but Harry was so busy trying to force his achy head to concentrate on searching the Snitch that he didn't hear the twins' warning, and the Bludger hit him in the head.

Shaking his head in annoyance, Oliver blew the whistle and called his team down. "You must be more careful," he scolded the players, "not to hit your team mates, and you must observe what's happening around you, Harry. Madam Pomfrey will have my head if you have a concussion because of being hit by a Bludger during practice."

"Are you feeling all right? Does your head hurt?" the twins asked worriedly.

"I have a bit of a headache," Harry admitted in a small voice, "but I already had that before practice; so it's all right."

"Harry," Oliver called him back as he slowly walked between the twins towards the entrance doors. "Let me take you to Madam Pomfrey for a check-up, just to be sure."

"I wouldn't do that if it was evitable..."

"... Madam Pomfrey is like a dragon in disguise..."

"... and she'll keep you for ages," the twins informed Harry, smirking.

"No," Harry replied firmly. "I'm fine."

"If you get a headache or feel sick, you need to go to the hospital wing. Do you understand me?" Oliver asked sternly.

"Yes," Harry promised, sighing as his aunt's voice popped up in his mind. '_It's your fault that you made yourself sick. Now you can see how you get well again, and don't think you'd get around your chores. You still have to do your work and earn your keep_.'

He slowly trailed along behind his team mates towards the common room and headed into the shower, hoping to be able to drown the cold he had obviously caught in the hot shower. Nevertheless, he felt worse for the wear when he woke up in the morning. His throat was so sore that he could hardly swallow, he had a splitting headache, and when he tried to sit up, the room began to turn around, giving him the feeling as if he was on a rollercoaster.

'_Why is it so cold here in the dormitory?_' Harry wondered, shivering violently in spite of the two jumpers he was wearing over his pyjamas. He slowly dragged himself out of his bed and simply threw his school robes over his night clothing, steadying himself against the wall.

"Harry, mate, are you all right?" Ron asked in concern as he pulled Harry with him downstairs to the common room, shouting excitedly, "Come on, we're late for breakfast."

Unfortunately, others were late as well, and Harry wasn't able to steady himself as much as necessary when he was unintentionally pushed from behind, causing him to fall down the last couple of steps, landing head-on on the floor. Colourful stars clouded his vision for a moment, and when Harry's vision returned to its earlier blurry state, he looked into the worried faces of his best friends.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione asked in concern. "You look worse for the wear."

"I'm fine," Harry replied, shooting Hermione a grateful smile when she helped him up from the floor.

"I don't think so," Neville threw in. "He was unconscious for at least a minute. We should take him to the hospital wing."

Hermione and Neville each grabbed one of Harry's arms and dragged him straight to the hospital wing, realising that Harry seemed to feel too bad to protest. However, when they reached the hospital wing, they stopped dead in their tracks.

Harry groaned in annoyance as Hermione read the note that was attached to the door aloud.

'_Dear students,  
I'm on holidays__ until New Year's Eve.  
In case you need urgent medical treatment, please turn to Professor Snape or one of the other Heads of House.  
Thank you for your understanding. Happy holidays!  
Poppy Pomfrey_.'

"I definitely won't go to Snape," Harry said firmly. "I'll be all right. I'm going to go back to the common room."

"Harry, please promise that you'll at least tell Professor McGonagall, if you don't feel better later on," Hermione said urgently as she and Neville accompanied Harry back to Gryffindor.

"Yes, I'll do that," Harry promised half-heartedly and scrambled back into bed, deciding to skip the trip to the station to see his friends off.

By the time Ron returned from the station, Harry was fast asleep. Ron carefully shook his shoulder. "Harry, are you all right? You should try to get up; we have to be in the Great Hall for lunch in twenty minutes."

Harry lazily opened his eyes, only to close them again right away. "Not hungry," he mumbled, hoping the other boy would go and leave him in peace.

"You're not hungry?" Ron asked incredulously. "I'm always hungry. Anyway, you have to come. You already missed breakfast."

Harry groaned. "Who cares? We're on holidays now, aren't we?"

Ron smirked. "Well yes, but I'm sure they're going to send Pomfrey after you if you don't attend meals."

Harry sighed. "She's on holidays. There was a note saying to turn to Snape or McGonagall if you had problems, so no thank you."

"Do you want Snape up here?"

Harry glanced into his friend's face. He looked serious. "Okay," he groaned and slowly scrambled out of bed.

Twenty minutes later, the two friends reached the Great Hall, and Harry stopped dead in his tracks. The House tables were completely empty, and the teachers as well as the few students, who had remained at the school over the holidays, were sitting together at a round table that was replacing the Head table.

'_Oh no_,' Harry thought, terrified. '_I should have stayed where I was. I don't think I can eat anything anyway_.' He quietly sat on the only empty seat, between Ron and Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher.

"Look Harry, it's shepherd's pie," Ron beamed, tucking in with gusto.

Harry took just a little bit on his plate and proceeded to play with the food, while he absentmindedly followed the conversation between the Headmaster and two older Hufflepuff boys about chocolate frog cards.

"Mr. Potter, are you not going to eat anything?" Professor Sinistra suddenly asked.

Harry looked up from his plate, startled, and realised in shock that Professor McGonagall was throwing him a sharp look from the other side of the table.

"I'm not very hungry. I ate too much at breakfast," he replied in a small voice, before he hesitantly took a few bites, feeling his stomach churn at the unwanted food.

"Ha?" Ron asked unintelligently. "You didn't even attend breakfast. How can you...?"

'_Thank God_,' Harry thought when Ron finally shut up after he kicked him under the table.

Harry carefully tried to take calm breaths in order to quiet his stomach and not get sick in the Great Hall, until he looked up startled as he felt something ice-cold on his forehead.

It was the hand of his Head of House. "Mr. Potter, please come with me for a moment," McGonagall said crisply, causing Harry's foggy mind to automatically obey.

By now Harry felt so miserable that he neither noticed that the professor gently steadied him, nor did he realise that she led him straight into the hospital wing. Only when she helped him into the first bed next to the Mediwitch's office, did he notice where he was.

"I'm fine," he protested weakly, causing the professor to scoff.

"Mr. Potter, I've been a Head of House for more than fifty years. Now tell me what exactly is ailing you. Madam Pomfrey is away on holidays, and the Heads of House are responsible for the hospital wing; however, none of us has any Healing practice apart from what comes with experience due to being Head of House. Therefore, we can only use Muggle devices to check on you. Are you in pain?"

"No," Harry replied miserably. "My head hurts a bit is all."

"Very well then, wait a moment," the professor said, throwing him a disapproving glare, before she headed into the office only to return with a few small objects. Placing everything on the night table, she lit the tip of her wand and motioned Harry to open his mouth. Using a stick to suppress his tongue, she checked his throat, before she examined his ears. "Can you open your eyes for a moment?" she asked in a softer voice and looked in his eyes, causing Harry to squirm as the light of her wand made his achy eyes even more sensitive.

"Severus was right," McGonagall mumbled to herself, when she coaxed Harry to open his mouth and keep the thermometer under his tongue.

"Hmm?" Harry queried around the glassy device.

"He suspected last night at dinnertime that you were ill, but I thought you were reasonable enough to seek Madam Pomfrey's help if necessary."

Harry closed his achy eyes and sighed as the cold stick in his mouth made him shiver violently. As soon as the professor took the beeping device back, he curled up under the covers in a faint attempt to get warmer.

"No Harry, you mustn't sleep yet," McGonagall chided him lightly. "You need to take a few potions first. I thought you had a throat infection, because your throat is very red, but considering how high your fever is, I assume that it's the wizard's flu. I'll give you the flu potion and a fever reducer." She fetched two phials from the office and gently helped Harry to get into a half-way seated position, so that he could drink the potions.

Harry leaned against of the head of the bed, shivering so badly that his teeth began to chatter. He wearily eyed the phials. So far, he had never had to take a potion, and the phials reminded him badly of his Potions class.

"Harry, you must take the potions. I know they don't taste well, but we need to get your fever down," McGonagall instructed him in a soft but firm voice, while she pressed the phial with the dark green potion against his lips.

Harry grudgingly complied, nearly gagging at the foul taste. The second potion only tasted slightly better, but Harry noticed immediately that it made him very tired. He threw the professor a grateful look as she gently helped him lie down and adjusted a cool cloth to his burning forehead.

The last he knew before he drifted off to sleep was the stern voice of his Head of House. "Mr. Weasley, out of here immediately. Mr. Potter is very ill and needs his rest."

_tbc..._

_AN: Since Fanfictionnet has once again problems sending out alert mails, here a word on my planned posting schedule. I will probably update this story every morning between 9 a.m. and 10 a.m. CET (8-9 in Britain, sometime after midnight in the USA). The next update will be the day after tomorrow (provided that you are interested (= review), because tomorrow I'm going to post a small birthday story for a very special reader. Same time as always! To those who follow Lord of the Wind, I'm trying to post that story daily between 7 p.m. and 8 p.m. German time (6-7 in Britain, between 9 a.m. and 2 p.m. in the USA)._

_I am also announcing updates on my facebook page (only healerpomfrey for both user names, not teddylonglong, because I have real life friends on that account...).  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Organising ****the Holidays**

**~ by Healer Pomfrey ~**

_Please refer to the content/warnings/disclaimer note above chapter 1. _

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When Harry's foggy mind turned back to awareness, he slowly opened his eyes and noticed that he didn't feel better at all and that he could see the faint rays of the early morning sun through the large windows. '_Morning?_' he thought in confusion. '_The last thing I remember was lunchtime_.'

He looked around, seeing that everything was strangely blurry, and Harry's thoughts drifted off to Gryffindor. '_Ron will be waiting for me. He is all on his own in Gryffindor_,' he thought. '_What if he goes to see where the trapdoor under the three headed dog leads?_' Suddenly, the image of his friend fighting against the huge dog placed itself in front of his fevered mind. '_I need to tell the professor. She has to go and save Ron_,' he thought frantically and looked around for his Head of House.

However, Professor McGonagall was nowhere in sight, and Harry decided to go after Ron by himself. He slowly scrambled out of bed and held on to the night table, hoping that the dizziness would at least get better after a short while.

Suddenly, a high voice penetrated his ears. "Mr. Potter, where do you think you're going?"

Harry glanced around his bed in surprise, groaning inwardly as he saw the tiny Professor Flitwick stand behind his bed. "I... Ron... He is in danger; I need to go and help him with the ten headed dog," Harry mumbled, trying to prevent his teeth from chattering.

"I'm sure Mr. Weasley will be fine," Professor Flitwick tried to reassure him.

"No sir, I saw him. He is fighting with the dog, but Fluffy has ten mouths and Ron has only one. They're biting each other, but the dog..."

"Mr. Potter, please go back to bed," Flitwick said gently. "You're delirious."

"No, am not," Harry replied miserably, closing his eyes in exhaustion. "Please, someone must help him."

The professor let out a sigh. "All right then, I'll contact Professor McGonagall and ask her to check on Mr. Weasley, if you go back to bed."

"Okay," Harry gave in, feeling very reassured by the thought that McGonagall would check on Ron. "Tell her about the dog with ten heads on the tenth floor," he mumbled gratefully as he let himself sink back onto his bed, sighing in relief as his head came to lie on the pillow.

Like from far away, he faintly realised that his Head of House was talking to him and that someone stuck something ice-cold into his mouth, lightly scolding him when he tried to push the annoying thing out. He was just about to drift off to sleep again, when he felt something being pressed against his lips, causing him to swallow automatically.

Several hours later, Harry woke up to something cold touching his shoulder. He jerked awake, noticing that ice-cold hands were carefully pushing his pyjama top down and stuck something equally icy under his armpit.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter; I was trying not to wake you up," he heard a soft voice and lazily opened his eyes just a little bit.

"Pfessor Sprout," he mumbled groggily, unconsciously leaning into the cold touch of her hands.

"Yes, Harry. How're you feeling?" the witch asked gently.

"Achy," Harry mumbled, realising that his head and his throat were still incredibly sore.

"Your fever is still going up," Sprout said thoughtfully as she pulled his pyjama top back into place and gently tucked him in again. "Do you feel any change?"

"No," Harry replied miserably, slightly wondering why he bothered to take the yucky potions if they didn't help at all.

"Maybe it would be much worse without the potions," Sprout said softly, causing Harry to throw her a confused glance. He hadn't even realised that he had spoken aloud. "What would you like to eat, Harry? Soup?"

"No thank you," Harry replied, feeling his stomach churn at the thought of food.

"You need to eat something," the professor said in a soft but firm voice. "When was the last time you ate something?"

"I don't know, but I don't feel so well," Harry replied, throwing the professor a pleading look from his half-open glassy eyes.

"How about a glass of water?" Sprout asked softly, apparently realising that Harry felt too miserable to stomach any food.

"Yes please," Harry agreed and eagerly sipped the water as fast as the professor allowed him. He slowly drank three glasses full, too slowly in his opinion, because he was very thirsty and the cold liquid felt soothing to his sore throat.

"Now try to sleep for a while," the professor instructed him, gently bathing his hot face with a cold towel. "I'll be here with you until the morning."

"No need to..." Harry mumbled sleepily, already drifting off to fever induced nightmares.

_He had a bad cold, and the school nurse had sent him home with a fever, but Vernon __instructed him to paint the garden fence. "I don't care if you're sick. It's your own fault anyway, and you have to earn your keep, you good for nothing brat. Why don't you use your freakishness to heal yourself?" In spite of feeling miserable, Harry painted the fence in the pouring rain. When he was finished, he was shivering violently from the cold and was so eager to get inside that he didn't notice that the rain was washing all the paint off right away. His uncle however noticed and shut the door into his face, ordering him to paint the fence once again, even if Harry begged his uncle to let him in, promising to paint the fence again tomorrow_.

Suddenly, he felt a cold hand on his own and flinched back badly.

"Easy Harry, wake up; you're safe and sound at Hogwarts," a soft voice penetrated his foggy mind.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and sighed in relief when he saw Professor Sprout sitting on the edge of his bed. "Thank you for waking me up," he said hoarsely, still shaking from the cold he had felt in his dream.

The professor made him drink another fever reducing potion, causing him to wonder why it was from a goblet this time, unaware of the fact that it was laced with a dreamless sleep potion that made him drift back to sleep right away. Fortunately, he didn't have any more nightmares that night.

In the morning, Professor Sprout was still there, throwing him a sympathetic look as she told him that it was Christmas day, before she instructed him to open his mouth and let her take his temperature.

"No," Harry groaned, feeling absolutely miserable. "So cold."

"I'm sorry, sweetie, but I need to check your fever. If it goes any higher, I either have to summon Madam Pomfrey or take you to St. Mungo's," the professor said firmly and coaxed the thermometer under his tongue.

Harry shivered violently at the cold touch and closed his eyes in exhaustion, ignoring the sounds of the door open and close. However, he looked up when he heard the professor speak up in a stern voice.

"Mr. Weasley, what are you doing here? You should know by now that Mr. Potter is very ill and not allowed any visitors."

"I'm sorry, but I don't feel so good either," Ron replied, and Harry noticed that his face was deeply flushed.

Professor Sprout ushered him to the bed next to Harry and stuck a thermometer into the shocked boy's mouth. '_He probably never experienced the Muggle way of getting his temperature taken_,' Harry mused, glad when the professor plucked the annoying device from his lips.

"Thirty-nine point eight," the professor said, sounding concerned as she scribbled something on the parchment on Harry's night table, before she turned to Ron when his thermometer beeped. "Thirty-eight point seven," she read from the display. "I'm afraid you caught the flu as well, Mr. Weasley."

Several potions phials and glasses of pumpkin juice later, Professor Sprout instructed the boys to remain in bed and rest. "I need to leave you, but the next professor in charge will be here in thirty minutes at the latest," she explained gently. "Will you be all right until then?"

"Of course," Ron agreed immediately, and Harry gave the professor a small nod, slightly flinching at the pain the small movement caused.

Unaware of the concerned look he received from the Hufflepuff Head, Harry curled up under his covers, hoping to be able to fall asleep soon. However, as soon as the professor left the hospital wing, Ron sat up in his bed, looking over to Harry. "Hey, Harry, isn't it cool that we're here together?" he asked excitedly.

Harry lazily opened his eyes, groaning inwardly at the disturbance. "Great?" he mumbled. "Wait until they insist on asking you questions when you feel as miserable as I. You won't be happy to be here anymore."

"I won't," Ron chuckled.

_tbc..._

_Thank you so much for your kind reviews!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Organising ****the Holidays**

**~ by Healer Pomfrey ~**

_  
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_I'm not a native speaker of English; a__ll recognizable characters belong to J. K. Rowling, and I am not earning anything by writing this story._

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_

"I'm not really sick. I only used a drop out of a box the twins sent me for Christmas. I don't know where they got this from, but it caused me to have a fever, which will only go away if I take another drop of the same colour. I thought you were lonely here and decided to keep you company for a while. Happy Christmas, mate."

Harry threw Ron a disbelieving look. '_He is here only to keep me company?_' he thought. '_I must be delirious_.' "Great to have you here, Ron," he mumbled and closed his eyes again, wanting nothing more than to be left in peace.

Harry jerked awake to a cold voice, asking, "What do you think you're doing, Mr. Weasley? Get back into bed this instant."

'_Can't they just be quiet?_' Harry thought, unconsciously letting out a small moan as he had the impression that his head was going to burst, when Ron decided to argue with the professor.

"I merely went to the washroom. Apart from that, I'm not feeling sick like Harry."

"Professor Sprout told me that you're running a fever. Therefore, you're going to stay in bed until you'll be told otherwise," the professor, whom Harry recognised as the Slytherin Head, replied sternly.

"If I knew you were here, I'd have preferred to remain in Gryffindor," Ron mumbled, causing the professor to glare at him.

"If you say another word, Mr. Weasley, I'm going to Floo call your mother. I'm sure she'll be glad to nurse you back to health."

"My mother..."

"Oh shut up please," Harry groaned without even opening his eyes, gripping his head in agony. "Could you perhaps cast a Silencing charm, Professor?"

"It's time to wake up and eat breakfast anyway, Mr. Potter," Snape replied coldly, before he called a house-elf and ordered breakfast for Harry and Ron, which he placed in front of the two boys.

While Harry tried to fight the dizziness and bring himself into a half-way sitting position, Ron began to argue. "Why do I get soup? It's Christmas morning, and I want a proper breakfast."

"Mr. Weasley, don't try my patience. Don't you think I have better things to do than to spend Christmas day in the hospital wing with two Gryffindors?" Snape hissed, turning to Harry in an equally menacing tone. "Mr. Potter, if you need help sitting up, you'll have to admit it, even if it must be so embarrassing for a celebrity to require help."

Harry felt too miserable to reply to the professor's provocation. Finally managing to half-way sit up, he asked in a small voice, "Do I have to eat Professor? I'm not hungry."

"You can either eat by yourself or I'll make you eat. It's your choice. I don't care."

Knowing that the professor would probably force-feed him if he didn't comply, Harry hesitantly took the spoon, although he felt his stomach churn only at the smell of the soup. He forced two spoonfuls down, before he threw the teacher a pleading look, only to receive a menacing glare in return.

"Professor, can't you see that Harry is on the verge of getting sick?" Ron suddenly shouted at the professor, not a second too early, because Harry's stomach chose exactly that moment to get rid of its contents.

Snape waved his wand to clean Harry's bed, and Harry let himself sink back, panicking. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to..."

"Well, we'll try again in a few hours," Snape replied curtly and retreated to Madam Pomfrey's office.

It was several hours later, when Harry woke up again hearing the professor and Ron argue. "I do not have a way to magically take your temperature. Now open your mouth and shut up," Snape drawled.

Harry sighed and opened his eyes just a little bit, only to notice that colourful stars were floating in front of his eyes.

"Potter, do you think I'm stupid?" the professor suddenly hissed. "If you're trying to make me believe that you're still asleep, you're sadly mistaken. Your breathing sounds very differently when you're awake."

"I'm awake," Harry croaked miserably. "I just can't open my eyes. I'm too dizzy and seeing stars." He opened his mouth, knowing that the professor probably wanted to take his temperature, which the teacher did without any further comment.

"Forty point six degrees," the professor stated a short while later. Mr. Potter, tell me in detail what is ailing you. I'm afraid this is more than the flu; otherwise, the potions should have kicked in by now."

"My head," Harry mumbled, "is the worst."

"Harry," Ron threw in, sitting up excitedly. "Didn't you see stars the other day when you passed out in the common room?"

"Excuse me?" Snape queried in a dangerously quiet voice. "You lost consciousness? Did you by chance inform any of my colleagues, who looked after you these last few days, about the matter?"

"I'm going to be sick," Harry said urgently, causing the professor to quickly conjure a small bucket, which he pressed into Harry's hands, not a second too early. "Thank you, Professor," Harry said gratefully when he was finished.

"Mr. Weasley, what happened exactly the other day and when was that?" Snape queried sternly, causing Ron to explain about the incident in the common room.

"No," Harry groaned and whispered, "At that time, my head already hurt. I began to feel sick during Potions class on Friday, and then we had Quidditch training in the evening, and I was hit by a Bludger. Ever since then I've been dizzy."

"You were hit by a Bludger in the head?" Snape asked incredulously. "And why did you choose not to inform Madam Pomfrey and let her check on you immediately?"

"It wasn't so bad," Harry mumbled.

"Seeing stars and fainting along with a fever of forty degrees is not so bad?" Snape sneered. "You're obviously too irresponsible to play on a House team yet. Clearly fame is not everything. Twenty points for each team member from Gryffindor, and another one hundred points from Gryffindor, because no one brought you to the hospital wing on Saturday morning when it was evident that you had an injury."

"No sir, please don't take so many points. It was my fault," Harry whispered, terrified.

With that Ron jumped out of his bed and hurried towards the door, until he was hit by a stumbling spell. "What do you think you're you doing?" he shouted angrily.

"Where do you think you're going against my strict orders to remain in bed?" Snape returned the question in an equally angry voice.

"I'm going to fetch Professor McGonagall. I won't have you ridicule Harry, who is clearly suffering because of being sick," Ron replied and made another attempt to leave the hospital wing, ending up at the door, which the professor had just locked with a flick of his wand.

"Mr. Potter, I need you to sit up and drink a few potions," Snape said in a slightly softer voice, and, seeing that Harry was obviously on the verge of losing consciousness, he gently helped him into a position, in which he would be able to take his potions. "Additionally to the flu potion and the fever reducer I'm going to give you the strongest potion for concussion, and we'll see if it works."

Harry obediently swallowed everything the professor poured into his mouth, before Snape helped him to lie down again. Harry sighed in relief as he felt the potion take effect. His headache became much better, and he felt the dizziness recede. He carefully opened his eyes. "Thank you so much, Professor. This is much better."

Snape made some notes on the parchment in front of him. "This means that you indeed have a bad concussion in addition to the flu, Mr. Potter. Do not move your head except for when it's inevitable. You'll need at least a week of bed rest."

Suddenly, Harry gripped his head in agony as Professor Quirrell entered the hospital wing. Snape shot him a glance, before he turned to his colleague. "Poppy is not here. Is there anything I can do for you, Quirinus?"

"I n... need a he... headache potion," Quirrell replied, looking at the students in shock as if he had expected the hospital wing to be empty on Christmas day.

"Thank God," Harry mumbled when the professor left the room, sliding the small phial Snape had handed him into his robe pocket.

"Leave it to Potter to make such a ruckus," Snape sneered as he returned to the two first years' side.

"Harry didn't do anything," Ron shouted angrily. "It's not his fault that his scar hurts whenever Quirrell is nearby."

"Professor Quirrell, Weasley," Snape corrected him automatically, while he proceeded the information he had just received. "Your scar hurts in the presence of Professor Quirrell, Potter?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes sir," Harry replied in a small voice, before he closed his eyes and turned to the wall, ready to drift off into a painless slumber.

However, the silence in the hospital wing didn't last long. The Headmaster made an appearance in order to enquire why Snape had taken so many points from Gryffindor on Christmas day, when Harry and Ron were the only Gryffindor students staying over the holidays and both were sick in the hospital wing.

"Professor," Ron shouted excitedly, "Snape is a complete git. He threatened Harry to force-feed him and didn't even help him sit up, although it was clear that Harry was going to throw up any minute. And when I wanted to fetch McGonagall so she could help Harry, he didn't let me go. And then he took lots of House points. Oh well, there is no other way to take any during the holidays, so it had to be worth the effort I suppose."

Dumbledore took a seat on the edge of Ron's bed and motioned for Snape to sit on Harry's, before he thoughtfully pulled a small bag with lemon drops out of his robe pocket and offered a lemon drop to Ron, who accepted the offer, and Snape and Harry, who both declined.

"Harry," the Headmaster addressed him gently, "are you feeling any better yet?"

"Yes," Harry mumbled sleepily. "My head and my throat are still sore, but I don't feel as dizzy anymore, and my head is a bit better too. Professor Snape realised that I have a concussion and gave me a potion that made me feel much better."

Snape hovered next to Harry's bed, his face void of any emotion when he explained why he had taken so many points off Gryffindor.

"I understand," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "and I fully approve Professor Snape's decision of taking points from Gryffindor. The Gryffindor team was very irresponsible not to take Harry to the hospital wing immediately. He could have suffered brain damage or could have fallen into a coma instead of just being unconscious for a moment..."

Harry interrupted the Headmaster, asking pleadingly, "Professor, couldn't I receive detention instead? It was only my fault. The others wanted to take me here, but I thought it wasn't so bad. Please, Professor Snape..."

"Very well then, two weeks of detention in the Potions classroom after dinner from the day on which you'll be released onwards," Snape said evenly, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said gratefully, sighing in relief.

"Very well boys, please listen to what Professor Snape says." Turning to Snape, the Headmaster asked, "Minerva will take over from you?"

Snape nodded. "Yes Headmaster."

Harry woke up to hushed voices beside his bed.

"Of course I don't mind taking over for you tonight, Minerva. Go to bed, and I hope you won't come down with the flu as well," he heard Professor Sprout's voice.

"Thank you, Pomona, and no, I'm sure it's only my usual migraine. Now, Severus is very concerned about Mr. Weasley, because he can neither get his fever down nor diagnose anything. He was talking about calling Poppy tomorrow morning, if his condition remains unchanged. Mr. Potter has a bad concussion additionally to the flu. His condition improved slightly, but he is still running a high fever and his throat is infected badly. The boys need their next dose of potions in two hours."

"All right Minerva, no problem. Why don't you..."

_tbc..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Organising ****the Holidays**

**~ by Healer Pomfrey ~**

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_I'm not a native speaker of English; a__ll recognizable characters belong to J. K. Rowling, and I am not earning anything by writing this story._

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Harry tuned out. '_Ron_,' he thought, groaning inwardly. '_He needs to take the antidote. We can't have Madam Pomfrey return out of her holidays, only to notice that he fooled them. He'd be in so much trouble_.' He pondered the matter for a few minutes, absentmindedly noticing that McGonagall left the room in her cat form. '_I'll go and fetch the antidote for him, and then I'll wake him up_,' he decided, feeling so glad that he wasn't as dizzy as before that he completely forgot the Potion Master's instruction to not move his head.

He waited for a while, knowing that he was too excited about the matter to accidentally fall asleep, and when he heard the fireplace flare and Professor Sprout talk with Professor Flitwick, he hurriedly scrambled out of his bed and left the room, heading towards Gryffindor. By the time he reached his dormitory, he felt as bad as he had felt on the day before, and the temptation to just lie down on his own bed was enormous. However, knowing that he'd be in much trouble if the teachers found out that he had left his bed at all, he slowly dragged himself back to the hospital wing, a red drop safely hidden in the pocket of his pyjama bottom.

"Mr. Potter, where have you been?" Professor Sprout rounded up on him as soon as he entered the room.

"Toilet," Harry mumbled the first excuse that came to his foggy mind and closed his eyes, partly because of exhaustion and pain, partly because of hoping that the professor would cease asking questions.

His plan worked, and Professor Sprout kindly helped him back to bed, merely sighing in annoyance as she noticed that he had aggravated his condition. "Harry, you must stay in bed. Professor Snape probably told you that you mustn't move your head at all," she said in a soft but stern voice as she gently tucked him in and proceeded to take his temperature. "I'll give you the next dose of potions, so I won't have to wake you up again in thirty..." She interrupted herself as she looked at the display of the thermometer she had just taken back and sighed. "I'm afraid we have to call Madam Pomfrey in the morning. Your condition doesn't improve at all, we can't figure out what's wrong with Mr. Weasley, and Professor Flitwick..."

"Pfessor, no," Harry said wearily, slowly reaching for the professor's cool hand. "Please, can you promise to not tell any of your colleagues and will not be angry with Ron?" Seeing the teacher throw him a curious look, he pulled the red drop out of his pocket. "Give this to Ron and he'll be fine. I'll be fine as well. I'm only feeling bad now because I went to Gryffindor to fetch this for him," he admitted in a small voice. "I heard what McGonagall told you, and I didn't want Pomfrey to be called back from her holidays."

"Mr. Weasley's illness is merely a prank?" Sprout asked incredulously. "Are you delirious, Mr. Potter?"

"No," Harry replied miserably, pressing a hand against his forehead. "Could you give me my potions first please?"

"Of course." Sprout gently helped him to sip the three potions and was just placing the empty phials back when Harry let out a moan.

"I'm going to be sick," he mumbled, hurriedly grabbing the small bowl the teacher held out for him.

"Better now?" Sprout asked softly, gently wiping his face with a cold, wet towel.

"Yes, I'm sorry." Harry felt a bit more alert now. Even if the potions hadn't worked fully, he could feel some effects.

"You don't have to be sorry. We'll wait for half an hour, and then we'll try to take the potions again," the professor decided. "Try to sleep; I'll wake you up in time."

Harry obediently closed his eyes, and Sprout sat on the edge of Ron's bed, gently shaking the boy's shoulder. "Mr. Weasley, it's time for your medicine," she said gently and pressed the drop against his lips, causing Ron to unconsciously swallow.

"Hmm?" he asked sleepily, lazily opening his eyes.

"Open your mouth; I need to take your temperature," the professor informed him casually, coaxing the thermometer into the first year's mouth.

"Go agay," Ron mumbled around the stick, but the teacher firmly kept the device in place.

Finally, she announced, "Your fever is gone completely. In the morning, you may return to Gryffindor."

During the rest of the night, Harry kept getting sick and drifting off into fever induced nightmares. However, Professor Sprout remained with him the whole time, waking him up from his dreams and gently steadying his back when his stomach insisted on rejecting its contents. In the morning, his stomach finally settled down, so that he managed to keep his potions down for the first time since the evening.

Harry had just drifted off into a blissful healing sleep, when the Potions Master's enraged voice pulled him into awareness.

"Mr. Weasley completely recovered overnight, while Mr. Potter had a setback?" Snape asked incredulously. "What happened here during the night?"

Harry slowly opened his eyes just a little bit but enough to see that Professor Sprout, who was still sitting on the edge of his bed, seemed to be absolutely exhausted. Her cheeks were flushed, and dark rings were surrounding her eyes.

"Professor, it's not Professor Sprout's fault. I left my bed during the night to fetch something for Ron. He needed some Muggle medicine." It was the best lie to come to his mind, causing the Professor to swoop down on him in full understanding of Harry's lame excuse.

"Mr. Potter, didn't I tell you..." He interrupted himself when Sprout let out a few coughs and began to shiver. "Pomona, I believe you're the next on bed rest," he sighed, placing a slender hand on his colleague's forehead. "Yes, you managed to catch whatever Mr. Potter is ailing apart from his concussion." He turned to Ron. "Mr. Weasley, get out of my sight. One hundred points from Gryffindor and two months of detention with me for your insolence. Get out NOW!"

Ron fled, and Snape waved his wand at the bed, before he gently helped Sprout to lie down and examined her closely. He was just taking her temperature when the Headmaster entered the room, a white-faced Gryffindor Head in his arms. Snape ushered her to the next bed, before he turned to the Headmaster.

"Albus, everyone except for Weasley and myself have caught it by now. You must leave immediately. Call Poppy; she needs to find out what they have. I gave Mr. Potter potions for the flu, for angina and for pneumonia, and nothing worked."

"I'm fine," Harry whispered urgently, causing Snape to turn to him and shove a thermometer into his mouth.

"I can see that, Mr. Potter," he sneered. "You'll serve detention with me this afternoon."

Later, Harry didn't even remember that Snape had taken the annoying stick out or fed him his potions; he fell into an exhausted sleep and only woke up to the early evening sun rays softly enlightening the hospital wing. He felt that he couldn't move his head at all. From the corner of his eyes he saw that Professors McGonagall and Sprout were peacefully asleep in the beds next to him. The pain in his throat had lessened considerably, and even his head didn't hurt as much anymore. '_My fever is probably come down as well. I feel much better_,' he noticed, sighing in relief.

Suddenly, he felt a tingling sensation run through his body. However, it stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and he heard a soft voice speaking to him as someone sat on the edge of his bed.

"Hello Harry. I'm Poppy Pomfrey. Are you feeling better?"

"Hello Madam Pomfrey," Harry replied, noticing that it didn't hurt so much to speak anymore. "I feel much better. Thank you."

"You're suffering from the Leprechaun angina, which you probably caught from the leprechauns that are staying with Hagrid at the moment. Your teachers caught it from you, but it'll be gone by tomorrow morning. However, you have a bad concussion, and you'll still need to stay in this bed for a couple of days," the Healer informed him in a soft voice.

"Are they all sick because they were taking care of me?" Harry whispered, terrified when a memory pushed itself to the front of his mind. '_Get out of my sight and don't spread your germs here. If you get my Dudley ill..._' Harry hadn't dared listen further but had dashed into the relative safety of his cupboard.

"It's all right, sweetie. It's not your fault. They'll be fine by the morning," the Healer said in a soothing voice, gently pushing a few errand strands of hair from his forehead.

"I can't move my head," Harry said in a small voice, throwing the kind witch a questioning look.

"I'm sorry sweetie, but I had to stabilize it. You mustn't move it in order for your concussion to get better." Pomfrey laid a small bottle on his chest with a straw that she kindly pressed against his lips. "Drink," she said softly. "It's pumpkin juice. It'll help with your sore throat."

Harry gratefully sipped his juice that felt very soothing, unaware of the fact that it was laced with potions, while his thoughts wandered off to the Weasley twins and what they had said about Madam Pomfrey being a dragon. '_She is very nice_,' he mused. '_All the teachers, who looked after me, were nice, but she made me better in a blink. I need to..._' Feeling very comfy and cared for, Harry slowly drifted off into a much needed healing sleep.

**The End.**

_Thank you so much for all your kind reviews! I really appreciate them!_


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